


Mothman Unsolved

by papesdontsellthemselves



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: I'm Bad At Tagging, Wow, okay just read, spot's only mentioned, this is a mothman au i
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 06:13:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17843963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papesdontsellthemselves/pseuds/papesdontsellthemselves
Summary: This is a mothman auit's based off what happened in Point Pleasant, WV in the sixtiesyeah..





	Mothman Unsolved

**Author's Note:**

> tw: character death, car crashes, panicking, nightmares, cursing

November 17, 1966

“Let’s do something,” Race peered into his lover’s eyes, which were carefully masked by the darkness in the room, “Let’s go somewhere, live for a bit…” he trailed off for a moment, “be kids.”

Elmer pulled him closer to his chest, running a hand through his tangled curls, “I dunno,” he considered, heaving a breath, “M’kinda tired and it’s pretty late.”

Race propped himself onto one elbow, leaning down to capture Elmer in a searing kiss, “C’mon,” he whispered, pulling away just far enough to speak, his breath still ghosting Elmer’s lips, “Just for a bit?”

“A snake, Higgins,” Elmer said, sounding vaguely breathless, “You are a fucking snake.”

“So’s that a yes?” Race murmured, trailing a line of kisses from behind Elmer’s ear to his neck.

Elmer growled, “Fucking fine. Okay, yes.”

Race sat up, grinning as he bounced off Elmer’s bed and slipped on his shoes, “Great, let’s go!”

The drive was pleasantly invigorating as they sped along Route 62, the long stretch of road expanding in front of them. There wasn’t much in around the area, but it was theirs. Point Pleasant, West Virginia wasn’t known to be any large attraction. Rather, it was a small town of no more than 5,000 people where everyone knew everyone. 

Neighbors never changed, townspeople never strayed. Everything was routine. Cookie-cutter. Imperfectly perfect in every way. 

Race liked routine. He enjoyed the vacancy of the area and cherished the fact that nothing ever differed. It was oddly comforting knowing that no matter how fast life seemed to accelerate, leaving him breathless and scared, he always had the same home and group of people to surround himself with. 

They sped forward, the road curving slightly as they entered the McClintic Wildlife Sanctuary. Race’s hand remained entwined with Elmer’s as he propped his feet on the dash, eyes wandering out the window and to the stars above. It was strangely warm for a November night, clear skies making way for thousands of visible stars and temperatures pushing towards the 60s. The two boys had long since abandoned their sweaters, relaxing with the windows down to allow the breeze to travel through the car.

“Ain’t we near the TNT Area?” Race asked, breaking the silence as they passed one of the old storage bunkers that scattered the area, leftover from World War 2.

Elmer hummed, glancing to the side momentarily before nodding, “I think so, yeah.”

“This place always rubbed me wrong,” Race commented as they passed another bunker, dug into the side of a ditch, “It’s downright unnerving.”

“We can turn around if ya want,” Elmer suggested, “we don’t gotta-”

He cut himself off with a gasp, involuntarily jerking the steering wheel to the side as what looked like two enormous red, glowing eyes materialized down the road. Race let go of Elmer’s hand, hastily taking his feet off the dash and placing them securely on the ground as the car’s wheels screeched against the pavement. 

They were spinning. Fast. But the red eyes never seemed to move from in front of the car. 

“Elmer, stop the car!” Race shouted, heart hammering in his chest. He willed himself to look away from the eyes and turned to his boyfriend, who’s gaze was transfixed on whatever was staring them down. His mouth was hanging open, but no sound was coming out. It was as if the sound had been erased from his vocal chords, leaving him utterly helpless.

“Elmer, love, look at me,” Race pleaded, reaching out to grab the steering wheel as they continued to spin at increasing speed. His stomach was flipping violently and he willed himself to hold down his dinner.

Elmer shook his head slowly, lifting one hand and pointing out the window. Fear spiked in Race’s stomach as he looked forward again, only to find that he was looking at what appeared to be a very large bird-man. 

The creature was abnormally tall, landing somewhere between 7 and 8 feet. Its legs seemed to sprout far to the ground, disproportionately slim compared to its torso, which was wide and covered in feather-like fur. A large pair of wings, more similar to those of a bat rather than a bird were neatly folded behind its back and Race swallowed, utterly captivated. His eyes returned to the creature’s own and he felt his voice leave his body, brain turning to mush as he tried to form words.

Then, its wings spread and it glided upwards, wings staying stationary. Race’s awareness returned to him with an overcompensating gasp and he turned back to Elmer, who’s eyes appeared to be rolling back into his head. Race watched in horror as Elmer’s arms curled into his body as he began to convulse. 

Race only had a second to scream as the car flipped on its side, Elmer’s head smashing into the driver side window. The sound of glass cracking echoed through the car, then everything went black.

November 17, 1967

Race sighed, hands curled around the mug of coffee he was nursing as he looked out over his front lawn. It was an overcast morning, the grey sky casting a gloomy mood over the area. It was as if the town was tired, sad, completely worn out.

Or maybe that was just Race. 

He removed a hand from the warm, comforting ceramic of his mug and allowed his fingers to travel to his chest, where the locket that Elmer had given him still hung. He considered taking it off and opening it, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He hadn’t looked at the picture inside since before the events of a year ago. 

He swallowed. It didn’t feel real. He couldn’t fathom that an entire year had already gone by since, since-

He huffed a breath, lifting the mug to his lips and taking a sip of the scalding drink, allowing it to ground him as the hot liquid traveled down his throat and into his chest. He winced, blowing out a breath to cool his mouth, but a part of him enjoyed the sting. It almost seemed to fill the hole in his heart that Elmer once occupied. Almost.

He stared out towards the town in the distance, watching as a traffic light turned from green to red. He flinched, glimpses of the horrifying creature and its awful eyes flashing through his mind at lightning speed. He shut his eyes, willing for the memory to leave. But he knew deep down that it would never.

He wasn’t alone in his experience, he knew that. Other sightings of that...that thing had been reported frequently throughout the year.

More reports of a creature with terrifying, red eyes, a large wingspan, and frightening speeds had been told and retold by those living in the area. It was every bit disturbing to Race as it was comforting. At least he wasn’t alone in his insanity.

He considered taking a walk, his legs itching to get up and move away from his place of solitude on his front porch. Standing, he chugged the rest of his coffee, placing the mug on the wood railing of his porch before traipsing down the steps, tucking the locket underneath his shirt as he walked off his property.

It was colder than it had been a year ago and he felt his teeth chattering as he drew his shoulder up, hands finding their way to his pockets. He watched his shoes hit the pavement, too worn to look where he was going.

It had been like that a lot recently. Small tasks seemed impossible. Simply lifting his head was too much to bear. Life seemed pointless without Elmer- his partner in crime, his other half, his secret and forbidden lover. He missed the thrill of sneaking out and stealing kisses, blind to the eyes of the town. It was a game. Seeing how far they could push their luck and limits without exposing themselves to unaccepting onlookers. But they loved it. God, did they love it.

Race pursed his lips, sucking in a breath around the lump of emotions in his throat as fierce longing thrummed through his system. He missed him so fucking much.

He hadn’t realized he was at his car until he was subconsciously pulling out his keys. He froze, catching sight of himself in the window. For a split second, he swore he could hear the sound of Elmer’s head making contact with the glass, the crack indicating the loss of his life reverberating in his brain. He shook his head, blinking. God, he was tired and it showed. Even in the shitty reflection he could see the dark shadows on his face.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, reaching down to pull open the driver side door. He climbed inside, anxiety bubbling up through his stomach and into the back of his throat, drying out his mouth and souring the taste on his tongue. It felt inappropriate to be driving then- as if he were betraying Elmer in some way.

Nonetheless, he jammed the keys into the ignition and steered the car with trembling arms onto the street. He drove numbly, unsure as to where he intended to go. That was a lie. He knew exactly where he was going.

Twenty blurry minutes later, he pulled onto the McClintic Wildlife Management Area. As the road began to curve, he slowed to a stop, nausea rolling in his chest. He could feel small spasms in his legs as anxiety turned to panic. Why did he come here? He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Abruptly, he lashed out, fist connecting with the hard leather of the steering wheel with a shout. He could feel tears painting his face, but he didn’t do anything to stop them. He needed this, goddamnit. Sobs ripped out of him- loud and agonising. He hunched forward, pulling at his hair as he tried to retain some semblance of control. But the grief was ruthless and all-consuming and he soon lost himself in it.

It was only when his sobs slowed to hiccups that he noticed the other car parked not far down the road. All breath left his body as he caught sight of the figure next to the car and he froze, eyes widening in fear. Not fucking again.

The figure turned and relief flooded Race’s mind as he recognized the shock of distinguishable red hair. It was a guy he’d seen around town. He was fairly certain he’d been in his homeroom the year previous.

The guy seemed to freeze momentarily as well when he caught sight of Race’s car, but he, too, relaxed when he realized that he was safe. They held eye contact through the windshield for an indiscernible amount of time. Bloodshot eyes peering into bloodshot eyes, a strange understanding emanating from one man to the other. 

On a whim, Race turned off his car and climbed out. The guy kept his eyes trained on him, curiosity visible on his face. Race steeled himself, tentatively approaching him. 

They stood, face to face, searching separately for what to say. 

“It was here, right?” Race asked, voice low and sad, “You lost them here, didn’t you?”

The guy nodded, “Driving here at night. Almost a year ago. Saw that...that thing and then we swerved and the car flipped and...he was gone.” The guy’s eyes widened as he seemed to realize that he had just outed himself.

“It’s okay,” Race said, quickly, “I am too. Queer, that is.”

The guy’s tense shoulders seemed to deflate at Race’s words and he leaned back against his car, crossing his arms at his chest.

Race bit his lip, hovering awkwardly for a moment before leaning against the car as well, mirroring the guy’s position.

“What did you see first?” The guy asked, apprehension thinly veiled in his tone.

Race hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking to the spot where he’d first seen it.

“The eyes,” he muttered.

The guy nodded, “Big and red, right?”

“Mhm.”

Silence fell between them and Race forced himself to look away from the road where if he tried hard enough, he could still see the creature’s horrifying form. His stomach lurched as the whip-lash inducing, spinning motion of the car seemed to ghost over him. He shivered.

“Fuck that thing,” the guy said, malice biting at his words, “Fuck it for doing this to us.”

Race nodded, “honestly.”

More silence, then, “What’s your name?”

“Hm?” Race hummed, distracted, “Oh, uh, Antonio, but folks ‘round here call me Race.”

“Ah, you’re a Higgins, right?” The guy asked.

Race nodded, “Yup. What about you?”

“Albert,” the guy said, “Dasilva.”

“Right, right,” Race said, recognizing the last name, “Your dad owns the auto shop, right?”

“Yeah,” Albert said, “Gonna be mine soon.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah…”

Before he could help himself, Race asked, “Who was he?” 

Albert looked at him, raising his eyebrows and Race stared back, guilt encompassing him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Race hastily exclaimed, “You don’t hafta-”

Albert smirked sadly, “It’s alright,” he interrupted, “It was, uh, Conlon. Sean Conlon, you know him?”

Race grimaced, “Went by Spot, right?”

“That’s the one,” Albert said.

“Yeah,” Race said, “was in my class for a few semesters in junior high.”

Albert set his jaw, “Yeah. Good guy. Kinda bruting, but sweet all the same,” he let himself look back towards the trees, deep in thought, “What about you?”

Race looked down at his sneakers, scuffing the ground with his toe, “Elmer, uh, Elmer Kasprzak?”

“Ah,” Albert sighed, “Yeah, his dad was a frequent customer. Also a good guy.”

“Definitely,” Race agreed, a heaviness hanging in the air between them.

“I miss him.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m gonna find that thing,” Albert said, his voice taking on a new sort of determination, “and kill it.”

November 20, 1967

“Dasilva!” 

Race approached the auto shop, sandwich bag in hand. He could see Albert’s legs poking out from underneath a 1964 Pontiac GTO. 

A loud bang, followed by a resound, ‘shit-fuck!’, sounded from underneath the car as Albert apparently tried to sit up. A moment later, he slid out on his back, face screwed up in pain as he rubbed his forehead, where presumably, he had hit it against the car. 

His eyes lit up nearly imperceptibly when he noticed Race and he smiled, beckoning him over, “Hey, Higgins, what’s up?”

“Ah, nothing. But here,” Race crossed to him, reaching into the sandwich bag and pulling out a grilled ham and cheese sandwich, “I broughtcha some lunch.”

Albert took the sandwich, eyebrows furrowing as he looked up at Race, something akin to amusement dancing in his eyes, “Thanks, but why?”

Race shrugged, pulling out his own sandwich and unwrapping it, “Dunno, really, just thought it’d be nice.”

Albert faltered for a moment, sandwich halfway to his mouth, “Yeah?”

“Eat it before it gets cold,” Race said, pointedly.

Albert chuckled, taking a bite of his sandwich, “Alrighty, thank you.”

Race chewed thoughtfully as he looked around the shop, taking note of the organized clutter. Some cars were suspended from the ceiling, while others were propped on the ground, but every car was in a different condition. Some looked pristine and new, complete with a shining gloss exterior. Others were completely wrecked to the point of unrecognizable, but every single one held a story. 

“Do you like working in here?” Race asked, crumpling up the aluminum foil that previously held his toastie.

“Love it,” Albert said, scanning his eyes fondly around the garage, “I dunno, it’s just...calming, you know? Fixing things.”

“Calming how?” Race pushed, a strange part of him yearning to learn more about Albert- to hear what he had to say.

Albert took a measured breath, sorting through his thoughts, “It’s just,” he shook his head, placing his mostly-finished sandwich into the bag, “I’ve always loved it, like, working with my hands and being able to blow off steam that way. But after what happened last year with Sean, I...I was so lost and I felt so broken, you know?” he took a deep breath, composing himself, “The first thing I did was take the wrecked car here,” he pointed to the farthest corner from them where an old 1959 Ford Fairlane was displayed. The sides were still dented in some places, but altogether, it looked pretty stable, “Fixed it up as best I could and, I don’t know, it calmed me down.”

Race studied the car, letting the words sink in, “Was the car his?”

“Yeah,” Albert sounded distant, lost, “He loved that thing more than life itself. I don’t even know why, but it was sweet,” he paused for a moment, “I love it, too. It just feels like the last bit of him that I still got.”

Race fiddled with his locket, relating all too well, “Yeah,” he breathed.

Albert looked towards him, fixating on the locket for a moment, “That your piece of him?” he asked, nodding to it.

Race pressed the cool metal to his cheek, “Yeah.”

“Does it have anything inside?”

“Picture of us,” Race said, “But I haven’t opened it since before...yeah.”

Albert watched him carefully, “Open it when you’re ready.”

Race looked at him, a lopsided smile plastered on his face, “I will.”

They held eye contact, swimming in empathy, warmth filling their chests. For the first time in months, the cavity that Elmer had left in Race’s heart seemed to mend the tiniest bit.

November 25, 1967

A loud knocking at his front door awoke Race from his nap. He kept his eyes shut, allowing for his senses to return and distantly willing for whoever it was to go away. But whoever it was was adamant and the knocking only grew stronger.

Groaning, Race pulled himself off the couch and scrubbed at his face, stumbling towards the door, “M’coming, m’coming.”

As soon as he opened the door, a newspaper was thrust in his face. Race’s eyes snapped open, his heart leaping into his chest momentarily at the sudden movement, but he calmed down when he saw Albert’s red hair peeking over the paper.

“Jesus,” he croaked, voice still dripping with sleep as he grasped the newspaper, moving it away from his face, “hello to you, too.”

“Just read it,” Albert demanded, stepping inside the house without prompting and pointing at the headline, “there was another encounter with the thing last night. Some lady saw it in her yard.”

Race raised his eyebrows, speed-reading the article, “Mothman?” He said, cocking his head as he read the new term for the creature. 

“Yeah, that’s how she described it, but think about it,” Albert’s hands were waving wildly at this point, “I don’t know exactly what you saw, but a moth isn’t so far off.”

Race looked up at Albert, realization dawning on his face, “Holy shit, you’re right.”

Albert nodded, an apprehensive glint to his eyes, “I say we go try and find the goddamn thing-”

“What!?” Race yelped, “Are you fucking insane-”

Albert held up a hand, silencing him, “Lemme finish. I say we find the damn thing and kill it.”

Race ignored the voice in the back of his head telling him to kick Albert out of his house and demand he never return with such idiotic ideas, “How would we even find it?”

“Okay, okay, so,” Albert pushed past Race, plopping down on his couch, “This thing is supposed to be a moth, right?”

Race eyed him warily as he sat down in the armchair across from him, “Yeah?”

“And moths are attracted to light, yeah?”

Race nodded slowly, “yeah...where are you going with this?”

“Shh, listen,” Albert’s leg was bouncing rapidly at this point, “we were both driving at night when shit went down,-”

“Oh my god, it was drawn to our headlights,” Race concluded, adrenaline ripping through his veins as the puzzle seemed to complete itself.

Albert clapped, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, “Exactly.”

Race leaned forward, holding his head in his hands for a moment, “Okay, how do we kill it?”

Albert seemed to stop short, “I’m not...entirely sure, but my dad’s got a couple guns, so that’s worth a shot?”

Race mulled it over for a moment, “Okay, yeah, I’ll do it, but I’ll need a bit to think this through.”

“Course, yeah,” Albert said, easily, “Come and get me when you’re ready.”

December 1, 1967

Race buttoned his jacket with vibrating hands, trying his best to mentally prepare for that night. He’d agreed to meet with Albert at the auto shop at 8:00 pm to search for the mothman, but he didn’t think he’d ever truly be ready. 

He tried to focus on the grounding weight of his locket against his skin as he drove to the auto shop, his recollection of travel growing fuzzy as he neared it. The anxiety that had been present throughout the day was in full swing by the time he pulled up and he was grateful that Albert had offered to drive them to the TNT Area. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle being behind the wheel.

The prospect of willingly searching for the mothman seemed stupid, as if they were putting themselves directly in its clutches- walking into the belly of the beast. But closure seemed appealing and as terrified as Race was, the slim chance that he’d get to kill the godforsaken monster left a giddy feeling inside him.

Albert was sitting on the hood of his car, head tilted towards the sky. He didn’t look at Race as he approached, but he did shift over slightly, leaving room for him on the blue metal. Race clambered up next to him, crossing his legs under him as he followed Albert’s gaze to the sky.

“Stars,” Albert muttered, his voice low.

Race felt overwhelmed as he drank in the view of thousands of blinking specks, “Yeah.”

“There were stars that night, too,” Albert said, “So many of them.”

“Same with my night,” Race said, “It was a beautiful night, warm-”

“-Clear-”

“-Free-”

“-Perfect.”

They looked at each other, eyes glistening and hearts hammering.

“I’m scared,” Race admitted, breath hitching.

Albert reached out and cupped Race’s jaw, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. Race reached up and grabbed his wrist, holding on for dear life.

“I am, too,” Albert whispered, “Let’s do this for them.”

Race nodded, “For them.”

The drive was completely silent, save for the sound of both boy’s slightly too fast breathing. The nervous energy in the car was nearly suffocating, but Race willed himself to take a few exaggerated breaths as they neared the TNT Area. 

The panic that had resided within him left a lump in his throat, threatening tears, and he gripped the center console, trying to calm down. Albert was chewing on his bottom lip, a breathless sigh leaving him every so often. It was clear that he was also barely keeping it together. 

Somehow, Albert’s hand found Race’s and they grasped each other tightly, eyes never leaving the dark road ahead of them.

Then, they saw them. The glowing, red eyes, stark and shining in the bitter, black night. The world muted for a moment as Race’s stomach seized up, utter and absolute dread eating him from the inside out. 

“Fuck,” He heard Albert breathe, “Shit, fuck.”

“I see it, too,” Race said, finding himself unable to look away from the enthralling eyes. It was as if the creature cast a spell on him, preventing him from wavering his stare. 

All of a sudden, the creature took off, gliding flawlessly vertically. Albert cursed again, accelerating the car until it was pushing 95 mph. Race lost track of the red eyes, but soon, a creeping feeling tingled the back of his neck and he turned to the side.

Horror slammed him so hard he couldn’t even scream as he made eye contact with the creature, directly outside his window. Albert must have seen it, too, because a moment later, he shouted a curse and made a sharp turn, hoping to lose the mothman.

But it stayed on their tail, never losing speed as it ran beside their car. 

“Albert, fucking speed up, fuck!” Race shouted, chest heaving as he tried not to throw up.

“I know, I’m trying!” Albert hissed, a panicked lilt to his tone. He sounded as terrified as Race felt.

Albert made a sudden U-turn, screaming as he tried to keep the car under control. They sped along for what could have been hours, but in reality was a few minutes, until the red eyes disappeared, no trace of the creature in sight.

Albert slammed the breaks, frantic cries escaping him. In the commotion, their hands had parted and Race reached a shaking hand over to Albert. Albert immediately clasped their hands together and lifted Race’s knuckles to his lips, trying to control his breathing.

“Hey,” Race murmured, trying to keep his own tears at bay, “Hey, look at me.”

Albert shook his head, breaths coming out short as he continued to cry.

Race reached his free hand up to brace the back of Albert’s neck, which was slick with sweat. He massaged it soothingly, taking a few deep breaths of his own.

“Shhh,” He cooed, squeezing Albert’s hand, “We’re safe, I promise.”

“We’re not, though,” Albert interjected, finally looking at Race. Their terrified gazes met each other’s, “We’re not as long as that thing is alive and we didn’t get a chance to fucking kill it.”

Race felt his adrenaline eb away and he choked, “I know,” he said, “I-” he shook his head, “I don’t think we can kill it.”

Albert looked back towards the street, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

December 10, 1967

Race and Albert’s legs were tangled together under warm sheets, shadows dancing across the walls in Race’s bedroom. They had spent nearly every night since their latest encounter together, too paranoid to be without the other’s company.

Race stared at the ceiling, heart too heavy to drift off. Albert was resting across his chest, fast asleep and looking at peace, something Race was thankful to see. Neither of them had spoken about the incident, but the dark cloud of apprehension followed them relentlessly wherever they went.

Questions of their safety hung in the air, withering their sanity from the inside out, but they tried their best to move from day to day, carefully avoiding any news of further encounters.

The town was in chaos. Everyone had their stories and no one was safe. The mothman didn’t discriminate. Everyone was fair game for a sighting and it seemed that as the days crept along, nights passing quickly, more and more people fell prey to its peril.

A soft whimper from Albert brought Race back to the present. Concerned, he peered down at Albert, who’s face seemed to be screwed up in fear. He ran his fingers through his hair, hoping to calm whatever dream he was having, but his condition only worsened.

With a gasp, Albert awoke, his arms tightening around Race briefly before he scrambled to a sitting position. He looked wildly around the room, pupils blown wide in panic as he neared hyperventilation.

“Whoa, hey,” Race said, crawling forward and placing a hand on Albert’s knee, “He’s gone, he’s not here.”

Albert shook his head vigorously, gulping in air in an attempt to gain oxygen, “Water,” he rasped.

“You want water?” Race asked, gently.

“No,” Albert was clawing at his throat, “There was,” another gasp, “So much- fuck- water.”

“Where? Wait, you know what? Tell me in a second,” Race pulled Albert’s hand away from his throat, massaging his palm, “Gather yourself and then tell me what happened, yeah?”

Albert nodded, tucking his head between his knees as he tried to calm down. Race crouched next to him, diligently rubbing a hand down his back and continuously kneading his fingers until he was significantly calmer.

After a few minutes, Albert lifted his head, dazedly looking around before slumping into Race’s chest. 

Race held him tightly, “What about water?”

“I was drowning,” Albert said, voice worn, but scared, “it was so cold...and...dark and there were...presents everywhere and...I don’t know. I couldn’t breathe.”

Race squeezed his bicep reassuringly, “It was only a dream, alright? You’re safe.”

“But what if I’m not?”

Race shifted so that he was looking into Albert’s eyes, “You are, I promise, okay?”

Albert glanced to the side, “okay.”

“Wanna try sleep again?”

Albert tucked his head into the crook of Race’s neck, “Please.”

Race guided them so that they were laying down and situated Albert back onto his chest, “I’ve got us.”

December 15, 1967

Race was running, feet hitting the ground hard as he willed himself to go faster. He needed to get to the Silver Bridge, he needed to get to Albert, he needed to find him before it was too late.

Stories of those who had dreamed of awful occurrences, which were soon followed by tragedy, had been frequenting the news lately and each and every one had a common thread: those who had these dreams had seen the mothman mere days before. 

As Race neared the bridge, the sounds of cars honking reached his ears and he froze, awestruck as the clutter of cars that lined the bridge from end to end. They seemed to be stacked horizontally, bumper to bumper. The road wasn’t visible beneath the vehicles and Race’s gaze shifted through the crowds. Albert was somewhere in there, and he had to get to him before something bad happened.

He could feel it. The ominous lurking of catastrophe blowing in the frigid, Winter breeze. He wasn’t sure exactly what was going to happen, but it wasn’t anything good. 

He stepped foot on the bridge, beginning to weave his way through the cars, but stopped dead when an awful creaking sound rang out directly above him. His head slowly turned up, mouth hanging open as he scanned the cluster of steel cables. They were taut, vibrating, working against every ounce of physics to stay put.

“Shit.” Race swore, head snapping back down. The goddamn bridge was going to collapse. 

He began to run, pounding on the windows of pedestrians as he passed different cars, shouting for everyone to, “Run! Get out of your cars! Get off the bridge!”

Whether or not people listened, Race didn’t know. His mind seemed to tunnel on one target as he searched feverishly for Albert’s car, which was nowhere in sight.

The bridge gave a sickening groan and people screamed. Race willed himself not to stop running as he slid over hoods of cars and snaked between those who were running.

The sound of the bridge straining grew louder and Race could feel the panicked sobs rising in his throat. He couldn’t do this again, he couldn’t lose someone else.

He clamped his hands over his ears as a deafening crack echoed behind him. It was happening now. The bridge was going to fall. 

He was distantly comforted by the fact that Albert clearly wasn’t in the center of the bridge, but he couldn’t help but look back as the middle crashed downwards, bringing cars down with it.

He gasped, unable to look away as the crevice seemed to grow, steel and metal barreling towards the water. It was nearing him, he was going to fall with it. He was going to-

A pair of strong arms wrapped around his torso as the bridge around him crashed down and he could hear a scream that matched his own echoing behind him as he plummeted towards the inky, black water.

The water was freezing and he could feel his lungs constrict as he was submerged. He kicked out, turning his body so that he was facing the person holding him. 

Albert. Thank god.

Race held him back, both boys using conjoined efforts to kick to the surface, away from cars and bridge debris. Christmas presents floated around them, and suddenly, Albert’s dream became clear. It seemed to take hours, but eventually they made it to shore on the Point Pleasant side of the bridge.

They collapsed on the grounding, chests heaving and bodies shivering as adrenaline seeped away, leaving them cold and scared.

Then, they were hugging, holding on for dear life as they came down from the high of yet another near death experience. 

“Jesus Christ,” Albert muttered into his ear, “Did that really just happen?”

They broke apart and Race held his face in both hands, numb fingers brushing over blue parted lips, “I don’t fucking know.”

Albert surged forward, capturing Race in a kiss. For a moment, Race felt warm, a spark in him igniting- a simple flame burning against the bitter cold. He kissed back, trying to convey every ounce of love and fear and sheer understanding into that singular action.

They were alive. They were safe.

January 1, 1968

Albert and Race trudged through the snow outside Race’s house, watching as their new adopted dog, Queso, bounded in front of them.

The events of the year previous still followed them like a shadow, but they were grounded. Since the collapse of the Silver Bridge, mothman encounters had ceased, no longer plaguing the people of Point Pleasant. 

Things were far from okay, but as Albert and Race healed together, their love grew stronger. 

They were okay.

**Author's Note:**

> so yah i really wrote a mothman au  
> as always, feedback is appreciated :)


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